


At the Close

by ladymal



Series: The Wolf and the Dalish Elf [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance, Trespasser DLC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-15 00:00:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8034139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladymal/pseuds/ladymal
Summary: She hurts. Because of the Anchor. Because he has left her again, this time to die. Because she doesn't hate him. She could never hate him.Trespasser fic.





	At the Close

Saehin is so tired.

  
She has fought for a long time. To stay whole. To stay alive. All while knowing that she was only delaying the inevitable. And now, at last, she thinks there is nothing left. It was all burned away as she slaughtered her way through an ancient maze, collecting the pieces of a story Solas had trailed behind him. Had probably led her along with knowing she could only follow. She stands—sways and tries to stop herself from crumbling—before the one who had killed her long ago and does not know what to say.

  
The first words are ugly. As ugly as she has many times felt she must be to have so many people in her life leave her behind, bleeding. _It should be you. Not me. I would kill you if I could. You mean nothing to me. To anyone. I hate you. I_ hate _you._ But they are lies and she is so tired. She doesn't want to die with them. Not when she could still say the only truth that might have ever been between them.

  
"Solas." Her voice is a broken rasp but she will say this if she will say nothing else ever again, "I love you."

  
Agony rips a scream from her throat and sends her to her knees. Her sight blurs but she doesn't need it to feel Solas' grief when he leans his brow against her, to hear it when he speaks.

  
"My love."

  
She's shaking, gasping for air she can't find. Green fire licks at her flesh with white-hot tongues but there is a shadow of cold steel as he cradles her cheek and threads his fingers through hers with a gentle squeeze. _Do not be afraid_. His eyes glow with power and then he is kissing her as she unravels like frayed stitches in a wound.

  
It is careful. A restrained caress that makes her heart ache and tears spill past tightly closed lids. _Please_ , she wants to beg. _Please_. Power—vast and suffocating and awful as a raging sea—touches her, bringing with it a thrill of terror until a familiar aura overtakes it. Enfolding. Comforting. She thinks of hands buried in her hair and quiet laughter, of the scent of parchment and heavy, damp plaster and soft charcoal on calloused hands. Delicate and fragile memories at odds with his removed touch. Her throat constricts and she pushes closer. _Please_.

  
Something snaps within—a burst of fresh pain—and a sob escapes her before he steals it from her lips. The kiss becomes desperate, his grip fierce as he presses their joined hands to his chest. He holds her, keeping her from drowning beneath the raw energy trying to sweep her under. Magic riots inside of her, around her as the Anchor breaks free like a beast from its chains. It rises up and her ears throb from the roar. Her vision disappears in a flash of light, her nerves scream, and—

  
It falls silent.

  
Warm breath ghosts across a mouth that had gone cold. His hands seem to catch against her as he pulls away. She opens her eyes. The setting sun shines on his armor and her lashes gleam with blinding stars that dash apart with a blink. He stands over her, his head bowed, and it's not until his gaze flicks to hers that she realizes that it is in mourning.

  
"I will never forget you."

  
The words reach her but it's as if they've come from far away. They are hollow and quiet against the pounding of her heart. She struggles to understand and when he turns and the eluvian blazes to life she does. The surface ripples, folding around him as he steps through and a moment later becomes dark and dead. A breath tears through her lungs, sudden and wretched and painful. 

_He's leaving me here to die alone._

  
She stares after him and then at the magic that has swallowed her arm whole. It still blazes and sparks wildly, devouring her flesh, but she can no longer feel it. The burning trails of agony from her palm to her skull have retreated and a strange numbness has taken over. As she watches, the fire starts to calm until all that remains are veins of glowing emerald in blackened muscle and bone.

  
They are fading too. Winking in and out like fireflies. _They're trapped_. She presses her thumb against one so that it can escape. It disappears beneath a curtain of falling ash and pieces of her begin to flake off to be swept up by the breeze. Her hand drops heavily into her lap as she bows beneath a wracking shudder. _It's gone_. _He—it's gone._

  
She doesn't know how long it takes for them to find her. Between one moment and the next, a large hand—indistinct and rough on her skin—cradles her jaw and she wonders if one of Solas' statues has come back to life. Come back to break away parts of her for itself. Her chin is tilted up and she gives a sluggish blink at the familiar face in front of her.

  
The skin around Iron Bull's good eye is taut and his gaze sharp as it seeks hers. His mouth moves but no sound leaves it, just faint puffs of air that skitter across her and make her blink. Her eyes drift. There are...words she needs to tell him. They scatter and slip from her grasp and sew her lips shut as efficiently as a needle and thread. Her tongue searches— curious—but her flesh is whole, safe except for the lingering taste of him.

  
A thumb like weather-softened stone grazes her cheek, distracting her. Iron Bull stands and with a tug to her arm, her body follows though it feels strange. Wrong. As if it's not truly her own but a wooden marionette that she's somehow mistaken as herself. Bits of ash stir and dance into the sky. A hook pulls on her chin, drags her vision through air thick as mud, and she sees her arm fragment and parts fall. They explode upon the ruined ground in black patches—out like fireworks in the night. It's confused, though. Darkness on color. Down instead of up.

  
_Like living when you're supposed to be dead_ , she thinks and it echoes.

  
She's aware of Bull lifting her up and carrying her tucked against his chest but it's distant. The trek back to the Winter Palace plays out in front of her in odd flashes. She sees Dorian—his face pale—placing his hand on one of the artifacts to build a path beneath their feet. A blink and Cole flits around her, his head swiveling like an owl's, until he senses her stare and meets it with wide eyes. They step through an eluvian and another. She hears alarmed shouts and watches a blur of faces rush by.

  
In the next moment, she's sitting on unforgiving wood, surrounded by people she doesn't recognize, and a bolt of far-off fear runs through her bones. A cold vial is pressed to her lips and she's forced to swallow. Bitterness slithers down her throat and coats her tongue as hands drive her onto her back, holding her there when she tries to rise. Dorian appears above her, his mouth moving with words she can't understand. The world wavers. Bleeds into an ocean. Gentle waves push and tug and she bobs with the current.

 


End file.
